


Last Words and Missed Opportunities

by Fragged



Category: Stargate Universe
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Hypothermia, Imminent Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-07 06:56:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4253712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fragged/pseuds/Fragged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's no goddamn way around it. They're going to die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Words and Missed Opportunities

Shit. 

_Fuck_. 

There's no goddamn way around it. They're going to die. 

Rush shifts a little, and Young can feel it against his side, but for how much longer will he even be able to detect it? Because the shuttle is cold – it's freezing – and Jesus, this is not how he imagined going out. Not necessarily because he hadn't thought Rush would be there, but because he hadn't thought Rush would be dying _with_ him, and goddamnit, none of this is the way it's supposed to be. 

“So, what's going to happen now?” he asks, and he's always surprised how calm his own voice sounds when he's talking about dying. 

Rush shivers, and Young wants to wrap his arm around him. He's pretty sure Rush will flinch and struggle and refuse even the little body heat they're sharing by sitting so close together, though, so he refrains from intensifying their contact. 

“Well, we're either going to freeze to death, or we'll use up the last remaining oxygen and suffocate,” Rush says. It's kind of weird hearing someone else talk about dying so calmly too. 

“Not even a chance of Destiny showing up in time to get us out of here?” Young asks, even though he already knows the answer. 

“No.” 

“So we're going to die?” 

Rush shudders again, and Young isn't sure whether it's because of the cold, or whether it's because hearing Young say it makes the whole thing real for Rush. 

“It seems so,” he says eventually, and fuck. Hearing Rush say it makes it real for Young, too. The air is already starting to feel thinner. Or maybe that's just his imagination. The inevitability of his own death washes over him in waves of strangely controlled resignation. 

They're both quiet for a long time, and it takes Young a while to realize they're breathing in sync now. Somehow that makes him feel oddly fond of the man sitting next to him. 

Rush makes a soft noise when Young starts rooting around in the inner pocket of his uniform jacket. 

“You brought alcohol?” he asks with a faint note of disbelief in his voice, when Young fishes out a beaten up flask. It had belonged to his grandfather, before his dad had passed it on to him. 

“No,” Young answers, opening the flask with unsteady fingers and shaking it upside down until his cigarette falls out, along with a single match. 

Rush is quiet, but Young feels the need to explain anyway. 

“I quit years ago. Kept this one with me. For...” He doesn't have the heart to say it out loud again. He'd kept it because he'd wanted to have one last cigarette before he died. All this time, the thing had been in his pocket. A safe, comforting reminder that maybe dying didn't have to be all bad. 

He's been tempted to smoke it before, of course, but this... this seems like the perfect opportunity, because he's going to die, and he knows in his bones that this time there won't be a last minute rescue. This time there won't be an unexpected sacrifice to save his life. And, well... Rush seems like the type of man with the capacity to appreciate it fully. 

“A last smoke?” Rush asks, and there's definitely amusement in his voice. 

Young sort of admires that even in the face of imminent death Rush doesn't stop being Rush. His tone of voice kind of reminds him of the odd peace with which Rush had accepted their flying into a star that first time. Thinking back on it now, he's pretty certain Rush hadn't known they would survive it beforehand. Back then, though, things had been different between them. 

He puts the cigarette between his lips, and yeah, even that just feels right. He's been denying himself this for so long because it wasn't good for him, and now it just feels ironic and strangely hilarious, because he thinks he could've been smoking three packs a day and it probably wouldn't have shortened his lifespan as much as being flung across galaxies to Destiny. 

Rush surprises him by pushing a heavy lighter into his hand. Apparently Young isn't the only one carrying around mementos of a life long left behind. 

Young's hands are shaking, and it takes him three tries to get the thing lit, but fuck, that first inhale of smoke is magnificent. Even if the cigarette is stale as shit and he has to swallow a hard cough. 

He takes another drag, and then offers the cigarette to Rush. When Rush doesn't take it, he turns his head to find Rush staring at him with a sort of disbelieving, suspicious expression. 

“You don't want it?” Young asks, and Rush shakes his head quickly before taking the cigarette from him with trembling fingers and pulling in a deep breath of nicotine-laced smoke. 

“Fuck, I missed that,” Rush says, as smoke circles out of his mouth in curlicued wisps. 

Young feels his lips twitch up, and leans his head back against the steel wall plating of the shuttle. Rush takes another drag and then hands the cigarette back to him. 

It's nice, sharing this last smoke with someone. With Rush. Because even if they haven't always seen eye-to-eye, and Jesus Christ isn't that an understatement, they're here together now. Smoking. Reliving a luxury of the past. Preparing to perish. 

He's yanked out of his thoughts when an alarm sounds, and Rush takes a bit longer than he usually would have to grab the kino remote and punch in a few controls to turn it off. 

“Ancients had smoke detectors, apparently,” Rush says by way of explanation, and Young snorts as he hands the cigarette to Rush again. 

They smoke together in silence, and when the cigarette reaches the filter Rush flicks it to the floor and stomps his foot down on it. Neither of them bothers cleaning up the butt, because who the fuck cares anymore? Young leans back against the wall behind him and enjoys the feeling of woozy dizziness that comes from smoking after a long abstinence. That rush of the nicotine in his blood. The rush... 

Rush. 

God, Rush is going to die here. The man shivers next to him, and shit, he really hates the thought that Rush isn't going to ever make it back to Destiny. Isn't ever going to snap at people from his console anymore. Isn't ever going to finish the mission. 

“I'm sorry,” Young hears himself say, and it sounds too loud in the quiet stillness of the shuttle. “You shouldn't have been here.” 

I wish I could have protected you, he means. Young is okay with dying. In a way, he's been, if not looking, then preparing for it for a long time. But he hates the thought that Rush is going to die with him, because Rush is one of his people, and he has always wanted nothing more than to protect his people. And, just like with any of his people, in the years they've been aboard the ship Rush has become somewhat precious to him. Infuriating as Rush may sometimes be, he's important. Important to Young. 

“It would've been someone else if I wasn't here,” Rush answers matter-of-factly, and that is true too. Young can't even imagine what this would have been like with someone else here. Greer, or TJ, or Eli, or Scott... He's pretty sure it wouldn't have been better. 

At least with Rush he doesn't have to pretend until the very end. 

Young feels a slight tremble work its way up from the bottom of his spine, and shit, it really is cold in here. In a little while he won't be able to suppress the shivers anymore. Rush already seems to be having a hard time with that, which makes sense, because his bodyweight must be some thirty pounds lower than Young's. 

This is really it. They're going to die, and in a sense this is the best way for it to happen, because he still has something to say. 

“I lied when I said I didn't regret leaving you on that planet.” 

Rush is quiet for a while. “You did say you regretted that.” 

“I said I regretted how it made me feel about myself. But I should never have done that, Rush, no matter how much I thought you deserved it. You didn't. No one does.” 

Rush sighs, and Young feels him relaxing slightly against his side. “I let it go a long time ago, Colonel. You should, too.” 

And somehow hearing that from Rush makes all of this... maybe not worthwhile, because damn, it is a fucking _waste_ that they're both going to die here. The ship is going to lose her commanding officer and her chief scientist in one fell swoop. But it makes something settle in his chest anyway. 

“Now would you please stop apologizing for old mistakes and shut up?” Rush bites out, and Young finds himself huffing out a chuckle despite the situation. 

“You're a lot of work,” he says, enjoying the way those words have transformed from something spiteful and irritated into something almost... almost affectionate. 

“Well,” Rush says airily, and Young feels another shiver wrack through his frame. “Not for much longer.” 

And wow, doesn't that put a damper on the almost pleasant atmosphere between them. 

“How long, do you think?” 

Rush makes an annoyed sound. “For me, probably less than two hours before I slip into a hypothermia-induced coma. You might actually make it long enough for the lack of oxygen to become an issue.” 

Lovely. 

“At least it won't be painful,” Rush adds. 

Great, _now_ Rush decides to become a glass-half-full type of person.

Still, it does make Young feel a little better, knowing Rush won't be in pain. Knowing that Rush won't die alone.

“Here,” he says, willing his numb fingers to open the zipper of his jacket and shrugging out of it quickly. Removing that layer of protection makes the hairs on his arms stand on end almost painfully, but he ignores it as he offers the jacket to Rush. “Put it on now, while it's still warm.” 

Rush gives him a strange look, but does as he's told. 

“It's not going to make much of a difference,” Rush says, but he rests his head on Young's shoulder anyway, and Young thinks this might be Rush's way of saying thank you. 

Young is cooling down fast, now, without his jacket, and soon the shivers become impossible to suppress. 

“Colonel,” Rush says, after an indeterminate amount of time. “I think we should...” 

“...What?” Young asks, but before he has time to say much more, Rush's cold, trembling fingers are on his cheek, angling his face toward him. 

“This,” Rush breathes, before pressing his lips chastely against Young's. 

It's over almost as quickly as it began, and Young's head is reeling with the idea that Rush just _kissed_ him. 

He wants to ask why. He wants to say no. He wants to object to the thought that Rush will be the last person he ever kisses, but he also wants _more_. 

“Yeah,” he says in lieu of all the protests lining up in his mind, and pulls Rush closer for another kiss. The tips of their noses bump together a little, and it's the strangest sensation because they are both freezing cold, and all Young can feel is the muted pressure of it, rather than the actual sensation. 

This kiss isn't quite as chaste, or quite as dry, as he pushes his tongue inside Rush's mouth and relishes the little sound of approval Rush makes when he sucks on his tongue eagerly. Rush moves forward, against him a little, and lets his cold fingers curl around the back of his neck before slipping them higher, up into Young's hair. It feels possessive and passionate and more than a little desperate, and Young feels something ache dully in his chest as he wraps his arms around Rush's shoulders and pulls him in closer as well. He wants... God, he wants more of this. He wants Rush opening up to him, letting him in, and he wants alien sunsets and sharing a bed and bickering fights that end in bites and moans. 

He won't get that, of course. He won't get any of that, because they'll never make it that far. But they get to have this, this kiss, and maybe he should stop being greedy for more and appreciate it for the incredible gift that it is. Because this wasn't something he'd ever expected to get. Not really. 

It ends, eventually, much too soon for Young's taste. Rush huffs out a shaky breath as he draws away again. 

“Been keeping in some unrequited feelings, Colonel?” he asks almost flippantly, although the harsh shiver that wracks his frame kind of ruins the effect. 

“You're the one who started it,” Young grouses, noticing his teeth keep wanting to chatter with his ever decreasing body temperature. 

“Yes. Well,” Rush hedges. “If there was ever a time...” 

Young feels an unexpected laugh punch out of him. Of course Rush knew exactly what both of them had wanted for a while now. Of course Rush picked the single most perfect and awful moment to do it. 

His brain is more sluggish than it was before, but it still manages to conjure a number of scenarios in which they'd have gotten the chance to explore this unanticipated desire between them further. It could have been good, the two of them. It could have been a terrible mistake, a ridiculous misstep, but it could also have been terrific. Trust, and love, and warmth, instead of the calculating hardness between them. Or maybe he's just fooling himself. It doesn't matter, Young decides. He'll take his delusions to his grave, anyway. 

“Wish you'd done that sooner,” he murmurs, letting his forehead rest against Rush's cheek for a short while. 

Rush just hums a quiet noise of agreement. Young isn't sure, but he thinks there's a world of regret in that one little sound. 

“C'mere,” Young says, grabbing Rush's hands from his lap. He'd actually wanted to do that before, but he'd been pretty certain Rush would've flinched away. Rush doesn't, though, and Young is glad for it. It wouldn't have felt right, after that kiss. 

He curls his fingers around Rush's and holds his hands. It won't do much to warm them up, Young's own fingers are just as freezing cold as Rush's, but it might help a little. Young is kind of grateful he gets to have this closeness with someone – with Rush – right at the end. Rush surprises him a bit by letting his head rest on Young's shoulder again. 

They sit together, waiting silently as the shivers first become deeper and then slowly fade out. Sometimes Young squeezes Rush's hands, and sometimes Rush squeezes back, until that too fades out. 

It won't be long now, Young thinks, as Rush's breaths ease into a deeper sleeping rhythm. Part of him wants to panic, wants to shake Rush and yell at him to wake up. But it's muted, a thick layer of scratchy wool covers it, because Young's own eyes are starting to droop as well. His core temperature must've dropped rapidly after shedding his jacket. And maybe this is for the best. An easy transition into death. 

Finally something between them that isn't rife with struggle. 

He leans his temple against the top of Rush's head and doesn't even bother imagining an impossible last minute rescue. 

He closes his eyes. 

It won't be long now.


End file.
